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The market is a strange mixture of smells. Everything about it, in conflict with one another. I diligently follow my mother through the market towards the center, in order to obtain her new kitchen servant. It feels like a death march towards to the center, a place where other wolves are bought and sold. The entire idea of a wolf selling another wolf like property is disgusting. A shameful act to be carried on in view of the royal family. The proximity of such privilege with such poverty and despair is disgraceful. It is upon the backs of those sold that the royal family is able to maintain their positions. They profit off of their own people’s bodies. Having to take any part of this process is horrifying. Poor Maristela, a young child, sold like a horse in an open market to anyone who was willing to pay the most for her. Stalls line the thoroughfare selling a variety of items. We weave through the crowd and I take in the sights and scents. The smell of sweet fried doughs in hone
“I will never be like you.” I whisper, more as a promise to myself than a declaration. “Time is the greatest truth teller.” She murmurs. We stand in silence as body after body is bought and sold. Field hands, butlers, maids, cooks, child brides, stable boys— every person it takes to run the household is sold like saddles and mops. I see the faces of my friends who work the Alpha’s estate in each one of these people, each drop of the sales gavel shatters another part of my heart. The pain is a consequence of my observation of this ongoing tragedy without having the courage to intervene. Intervention meant death though. Maybe even a fate worse than that. I feel a tingling on my skin almost like I am being touched by a spirit. Their fingers ghosting along my arms and shoulders to get my attention. A young woman is being led to the platform. Her eyes snap to mine as the feeling intensifies. She looks plain. The type of woman you must have seen a million times before. Nothing notabl
His eyes linger on me. His gaze lights my skin ablaze, I feel flushed from his attention on me. My mind thinking of other things my hot mouth could wrap around. His gaze fixed on me as I perform. “Enjoying the cone?” He asks shamelessly. “Immensely.” I say much more breathy than intended. “You would be surprised how many delicious things there are to sample here in the Kingdom of the Moon.” He says with an edge of flirtation. I should be disgusted by his advances. He represents everything that is wrong. His flirtation with the help so openly in the market is scandalous, even if I am of noble birth. I should be offended as a proper lady that he would even feel so emboldened. “Any good meat dishes you would recommend, your highness?” I say coquettishly, the look of innocence on my face hiding my double meaning. My tongue tracing the peak of my ice cream before retreating to my mouth. A soft growl rumbles in his chest. It might be my undoing. I would let him take me right here
“With whom? Yourself?” I ask with an edge of sarcasm. “You think so poorly of me?” She asks like a wounded child. The question hangs between us. The truth is, I have no idea what she is capable of. “I was born two hundred years ago. Malakai was a story for the history books for wolves by then, but for witches, it was like it was yesterday. For the Tribe of Circe, the need for retribution was palpable and ubiquitous. It was centered in everything. Being the first daughter in a long line of first daughters from first daughters, I was groomed to take the throne. Once my powers were bestowed upon me after my ascension, I was positioned to be the hope of the coven.” She begins to explain after a period of silence. “What is the price of remaining youthful?” I ask, thinking back to all the stories of my youth of wicked witches and their depravity. “At two hundred I have barely left my adolescence. I am still very young.” She says, a look of disappointment in my provincial views. W
The clock strikes four and the slave my mother purchased still has not returned from market. It’s tea time and I know she is itching to leave the capital before the sun sets. “Captain, when will your man return with my servant? I’m beginning to grow concerned that my merchandise is being damaged.” My mother snapped as we made our way to tea. “I’m certain that is not the case, your grace. I will go myself, to hurry the process along.” He grabs his coat and begins to charge towards the front door when a knock booms from the door. The butler opens the door and immediately bows deeply. “Your highness! P-Please do come in!” The butler stumbles over his words in nervous energy. My mother and I abruptly stop at the last landing of the stairwell in front of the grand entry way the Prince is standing in. We both curtsy in unison, by muscle memory. “Your Highness, to what do we owe such an honor? I was not expecting that you would join us for tea.” My mother says graciously. “I meant
There are three of us jammed into the carriage. I share my seat with the new servant, the Luna across from us with the largest seat to herself. A book balanced in her hand she casually reads slowly turning the pages. Her focus is entirely on the book, her intense staring only randomly interrupted by a small giggle or gasp. From time to time she shifts in her seat as she reads. The book some tawdry romance passed between housewives, discussed in whispers and giggles at tea. The new servant and I sit awkwardly, straining our abdominal muscles to maintain a small space between us. This space is guarded fiercely as the carriage tumbles down the road. We find our synchronization as we lean and shift with the carriage careful to maintain our space. A dance of quiet movements in unison. Neither of us dare to speak, to do so would be against protocol. The new servant is unsure of the order of things in our house, so erroring on the side of caution is always the wise pathway. Silence is alwa
The inn is tucked under a canopy of trees that grow on the outer edge of the Black Woods. I imagine this is the house young Hansel and Gretel stumbled upon. A grand estate, it is reminiscent of a gingerbread house, fitted with an aggressively sharp triangular roof with decorative fascia with fanciful swoops and swirls like royal icing, small windows you can see out of but never escape from with fanciful filigrees, opaque windows that look like poured sugar. Plus it’s quite possible a cannibalistic old witch hag lives inside it. The thought of it makes me giggle to myself. The house itself, once inside, is far too boring to be described in a fairytale. It feels like a flophouse, one inhabited by passing travelers, and not a good one either. It smells of old beer and cheap cigars, I don't imagine the rooms will be much better. An old woman approaches us, just as round as she is short, dressed in a plain brown frock and white apron. “Good Evening, Madame. Welcome to Halwayat House.
“I prefer order to destruction, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of it. I’m tired of not knowing things.” I say in a menacing whisper as I plait the Luna’s hair to prepare her for bed. Her and I are alone, but I take no chances or someone overhearing us. “The truth reveals itself in its own time, as it should.” She replies cryptically. “You cannot compel a flower to bloom. It reveals itself when the time is right.” I yank her hair a little tighter than necessary in my frustration. “Mind yourself.” She warns, staring intensely at me in the reflection of the vanity mirror. “I know nothing of what is to come. I don’t even understand what I am and what I’m capable of. How can I navigate this world safely if I am ignorant to how to protect myself?” I ask exasperated by this entire situation. In a perfect world, I would not have to rely on my mother for anything. This is not a perfect world. “Truth be told, I’m not quite sure what you are capable of either.” She says softly. “You
Some oaths cannot be broken. The thought tumbles in my mind. “It is true. The consequences can be dire when breaking a promise. An oath is sworn with your life.” Theia warns. “A witch is nothing without her word. Our whole existence is built upon the truth that words are powerful and have meaning. A covenant is an agreement, but an oath is a solemn promise. Breaking an oath is not a simple undertaking. The consequences of such actions can be catastrophic and change who you are entirely. To break an oath is a choice of darkness. Embracing the worst that this world has to give.” Asteria chimes in. “Last night, for me, was filled with dreams and nightmares. They don’t even all make sense to me at this point. A mix of my memories, and what I assume the two of you were seeing.” I say. I made an oath to the King, but I would break it in a heartbeat if I thought I could do it and continue to keep my head. Are oaths really oaths if you are under duress? Or is that simply fealty, a forced
I hear a soft rapping at my door. I tear myself from the sheets like a petulant child, stomping towards the doorway. The warmth of my bed calling to me. I don’t think I’m ready to be shoved into a bath and corseted into a gown. I feel as if I have not even shut my eyes, let alone gotten any rest. “I’m coming.” I say, in a decidedly grumpy voice. I put the most sincerest grumpy tired face expression that I can muster, and open the door. “What?” The hallway is empty. I cannot even hear distant footsteps of maids and servants performing their daily task list. A list that starts the moment their eyes open and does not end again until they close. The realization washes over me with shame. I think back to the endless hours, scrubbing dishes, scrubbing floors, standing over hot stoves. I looked to my arms to see all the faint scars I have accumulated over my years. Each one with their own story. The time I sliced my hand open or when I burnt myself on the edge of a pot because I wasn’t t
Your highness. I suppose it is better than being a slave, though your name is surrendered just the same. Instead of no one caring to know your name they are forbidden to speak it, it’s traded in for formal titles. This elevation does not bring freedom, rather luxurious chains, forced to follow antiquated traditions. It is not the same as being an actual slave though. To compare it as such is a denigration. A lie. One cannot be both slave and master, though it seems even masters have masters to bow to. The breakfast I consumed without having to perform any labor only underscores my place in the pecking order, now far above the one I used to enjoy. I struggle to enjoy my new position when Dmitry has been left behind. I should rest though. I am to be a bride today. The wedding is less about me and more about the future of the monarchy. The continuation of Malakai’s line through history. I am only the womb used to usher in this future greatness. The wedding itself is largely performat
“Breakfast is already in your chambers.” Phoebe reassures, her delicate hand still clasping mine. “Thank you, Priestess Phoebe. I appreciate your consideration.” We fall into a comfortable silence. The floors of the temple are cold on my naked feet, my soles made soft and delicate by the last month of wearing shoes. I am only steps away from being a Princess, living a fairytale and touring the Kingdom. I cannot help but feel tragedy lurking in the shadows. A beast so insidious, patiently waiting to strike at your most triumphant moment. The climb up the social ladder feels like a climb that ends with me jumping to my death. I breathe deeply and allow the sound of our swishing robes lull me into calmness. I am greeted by the smell of breakfast when the door to my room is opened. “Such a feast!” I squeal like an excited child. “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach.” Phoebe scolds. “Then join me, priestess. There is more than enough for us both.”“Thank you, m’lady.”The formalit
Ceres“Papa! Papa! I think I have something!” I squeak. My little body wiggling, unable to control the overwhelming excitement that has washed over me. My tiny childish hands reach for my father, precariously balancing in the small rowboat. “Shhh! Hush. You will scare away all the fish.” He says gently. His heavy hands lovingly placed on my shoulders, calming me instantly. “You have plenty of time to make waves in your life, you need not do it when we are trying to fish.” He gently scolds. “Yes, papa.”“Now, let’s check that line. Reel it in gently but steady, then flick to set the hook.” He demonstrates the process on his own rod. I begin to reel it in, quietly squealing with glee, pulling it in as my father had shown me many times before. Springtime on the lake, learning to live off the land. “You must be able to provide for yourself.” That is what my father would say when I would complain about waking before the sun. Early morning on the lake is what heaven must be like. The w
Theia The air is crisp, the dew covers the ground and little droplets stick to my fur like tiny little pearls. Running in this form is so freeing. I wish it could always be just like this. “Catch me if you can!” I call as I weave through the branches and mossy stones. I do not even see his form, a shadow in the darkness, when he pounces on me and we roll down a small embankment. “Gotcha!” He gleefully remarks. The heat from his body presses against mine and I do not struggle or squirm under him. I am content to be here in his snare. “I didn’t even see you!” “Did you say that you owe me a wish? Do I now have two?” “No! I made no promise of another wish granted. I do owe you one though, so choose wisely.” He looks deeply into my eyes. “Yes. I will have to be thoughtful in what I choose.” I could get lost in his golden orbs. The fire in his stare. His darkness to my light. “We should go. The sun is already threatening to break the horizon. Dawn is here, it is o
Theia “The sun will rise soon.” I murmur. I stretch my legs out lazily. “We can speak of magic some other time.”“Some other time.” Erebus parrots back. His voice slow and lazy, as if considering the next possible occasion. “You are not lying if we agree to keep what has happened between us.” I say, breaking the silence between us. “That is quite literally called lying by omission.” “No, it’s keeping something sacred between us.”“You can dress a sow in silk gown, but that will not make her a Queen. Just because you call it something else doesn’t make it something else.”“Two things can be true.” “Yes, I suppose. That doesn’t mean it sits right with me.”“Oracles are not the Goddess. There is no guarantee that my mark will even look as the book tells it.”“Your optimism knows no bounds.” He quips sarcastically. “We pledged ourselves to one another. This bond is above all others. Period.” I growl, his insistence on calling me out is getting under my skin. No one wants an honest a
CeresDarkness can swallow you whole. The void of nothingness. I cannot even see Theia or Asteria anymore. Their thoughts are shielded from me, yet I can feel the veil thinning. I can feel my resurgence, my resurrection into my physical form. It is coming, I can feel the electricity in the air. “Ceres!”A voice calls to me from the abyss of nothingness surrounding me. I do not recognize the call. It is not Asteria or Theia’s voice calling. No one else should be here. “Come my child, come to my voice.”I have read enough fairytales to be suspicious of mystery voices calling from the dark. Their honeyed calls disguise their horrific intentions. Harpies calling from the cliffs, lulling you to your death. Do such creatures lurk in this place, this in between space, where I have no control? I am just a battered ship being tossed around the sea, only to steer myself into a rocky grave, calling to me so sweetly from beyond my vision. I will not blindly go towards the faceless voice in the
Theia“There is no affection in power. Power consumes all and no price is too high to pay to keep it. Edward may believe that his Grandfather’s love for him is unconditional, but I am not so naive.” Erebus growls. “Any threat to the King’s power will be eliminated. Period.”The truth weighs heavy. Silence settles within the cave. “Will the Immaculate Mother reveal the truth to the King?” I ask after a long bout of silence. “You said it yourself. Information you do not know, but want; is valuable.”“I have not read the myths of this prophecy. The Oracle Chronicle of the First King. I believe that is what the Immaculate Mother called it. Have you or Edward studied this?” “Edward is aware of all the sacred texts of the Kingdom. He has spent his entire life preparing to be King.”“What will he do when he discovers that I am the defender of the faith? Destined to fight in a battle and be the savior of the Kingdom? Will he see that as treason and address accordingly?”“I would like to sa